


Consecration

by GirlWolfTattoo



Series: Pascal!Priest AU [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Mandalorian (TV), Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Priest Kink, References to Real People, Sexual Fantasy, hierophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWolfTattoo/pseuds/GirlWolfTattoo
Summary: Part 1 for the father Pascal original character (which means, a fictional character based on Pedro Pascal. Basically priest kink stuff.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Pedro Pascal/Original Character(s), Pedro Pascal/Reader, Pedro Pascal/You, priest/sinner - Relationship
Series: Pascal!Priest AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174076
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Consecration

Being raised as a catholic may be a headache, specially if you aren’t fond to the religion and rituals most of your family follows the verbatim. Of course, mass was the main event and sometimes preaching could be interesting, but being about forty minutes every Sunday morning in a church to secure your inmortal soul sometimes felt like a high price you weren’t willing to pay. You were a good person according to usual sermons, you helped your neighbor as much as you were able, respected and loved your parents, accomplished lent every year since you remembered and, if you felt like you’ve done some nasty stuff, you went to confession. 

The problem began when the new priest came into your local church, in order to replace old and ill father Colin, which lumbago had forced him to give up and some masses he had to remain on his seat. His replacement was different… much more different than anyone, you included, could have thought. 

The first thing that jumped at the sight was his appearence, younger than father Colin but, in a weird way, ageless, like he could be either in his thirties or fourthies; his complextion didn’t seem hardly built, but neither wasn’t very thin, and sometimes you could notice how the mass robes tauten on his chest and shoulders. No living person with eyes could have said he wasn’t appealing, for even his sharp eyes and hooked nose fit perfectly in his always radiant and kind face. 

Suddenly, masses became the most precious moment of the week. Every Sunday morning you prepared yourself with your best, clean clothes and rushed your parents to get a good sit in the church. As the bells rang, telling people the mass had started, and father Pascal walked between the seats, followed by the usual altar boys, your eyes followed him using as much discresion as you could, so nobody could notice the heat on your face and the red on your cheeks as you traced every movement of that gorgeous man of God in your mind, to use it as a lucky charm through the week. His preaching was always filled with energy and excitement, the strenght of his passion and youth printed on every word and moves from his hands; yes, he talked with his hands as much as with the voice, making the audience dance at his rythm in such way even the usual sleepy heads would turn their whole attention to the man.

Along with his features, father’s hands had became a problem for your futile concentration skills. If you weren’t following his face gestures, you did the same for his hands, yout eyes darting in the big palms, usually showing at the congregation, the thick fingers clenching in the air, pointing at nowhere to remark his words and, of course, doing the sign of the cross when it was appropiate. Those hands were a dream come true, the epitome of grace and virility, both kind and strong at sight, and the almost tender form he used to hold the communion wafer before sliding it into the parishioner’s mouths… God, it was the best moment of the mass. 

“Going to commune?” your parents asked innocently, unaware of the true feelings boling in your chest as you took your place in the line, hands pressed together in praying position as you were taught in catechism sessions, and kneeling towards the altar as soon as you reached it. 

How would be to kneel for father Pascal? You, walking towards his magnificent figure, head lowered to show your complete submission, and finally, bending your knees to fall over them on the floor, silent and longing, waiting for his voice to command you.

Father Pascal presented the tiny, white wafer. Every time, you felt like truly blessed, and didn’t have enough words to thank the Lord for bringing this gorgeous servant of His to your church. Your eyes met father’s, and you leaned your head in an attempt to hide yourself. It is known God knows people’s heart and what they hide in it, but what if any of your thoughts was powerful enough to permeate through your skin and showed themselves there were the priest could see them? How would he react if he knew the only reason you started to show interest in religion was him? How would you dared to see his face again when you spent most of the mass time creating fantasies involving him?

The father’s hand placed the wafer at the necessary distance for you to take it. You stretched your neck and caught the thin form into your lips, but doing it so further you noticed, for a fractment of second, how your lower lip hit against father Pascal’s finger. You retracted quickly, fighting to not take a look at his brown, warm eyes, and walking back to your place trying to not looked guilty. You kneeled in the padded plank and closed your eyes, pretending to make your pray, when you were actually getting into a new fantasy.

You saw yourself, kneeling on the floor, and listening the father’s preaching that didn’t meant something to you, your cheast moving up and down hard as your breathing became more superficial. You opened your eyes and found yourself facing at father’s belt a black, broad piece of clothing that adjusted around his waist with a strip hanging in front of his right thigh. One man’s hand was holding a golden globet, the one he used to pour the wine for the mass, and the other one reached the back of your neck, pulling your head back so you could see him from below. “Take it, my lamb” he commanded you, pressing the globet’s border against your wanting lips, and you gave a sip to the red, bitter liquid. He kept sliding the wine into your mouth without giving you a single moment to rest and take a breath, but every small nuisance was nothing, as long as you could rejoice in the priest’s hands and becoming his little, sinful plaything.

“Honey?” 

Your mother’s voice dragged you back to reality. People were moving around you, the mass was over, and you just spent the last minutes kneeling in silent like a saint picture. You stood up, ashamed and worried, and your eyes went to the altar one more time. Father Pascal was there, speaking with a few persons and displaying his usual sweet smile. At the moment he moved his head towards you, and your sight met, you saw his smile fade, and a new, disturbing expression on his face. His lips moved, separating from each other, and for a moment you thought he was going to call you out, but then he returned to his normal manners and continued speaking with their interlocutors.

You had to force your feet to move and leave the building. The imprintment of the father’s finger against your lip still felt like fire, and you imagined it was how someone should feel when they were touched by a sacred thing, even if that was an heretic thought, you smiled. You were willing to kiss and receive anything he could hand you, even the keys of hell, even the most sinful piece on Earth, and you would kiss it and worship it in his divine name, the father’s name.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of an AU I started on Tumblr, if you like leave your kudos and comments!


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